


Three Dog Night

by kanadka



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Case Fic, Multi, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 01:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5987089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanadka/pseuds/kanadka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, UNCLE likes to toy with its agents. Napoleon supposes that the Helsinki case suffices for a practical joke, but Waverly's got a funny sense of humour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Dog Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamiflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamiflame/gifts).



Their mission after they return from Istanbul - which, even though it went swimmingly as far as Napoleon is concerned, Illya seems determined to _not talk about_ \- has them heading to the Baltic.

"We suspect that French intelligence has placed a sleeper agent behind the curtain," says Mr Waverly. "He's on his way west. Your orders are to intercept, retrieve the asset and bring him in."

Sounds straightforward. Illya hefts the file in his hands. It looks comically small inside them. "This file - is light, is suspicious," he notes.

Alas for Mr Waverly, he doesn't elaborate much. "He had not yet been fully recruited by UNCLE. We have only base information for him. I suppose we could have included his grade school records, but it would do you no good. The relevant information is rather sparse. His last known whereabouts were in the Estonian SSR." Napoleon sucks in a breath.

"Some problem?" asks Illya.

"No problem," says Napoleon. Big problem. Tallinn is a hotbed of spies. It will require all Illya's information and knowledge to keep them abreast of Russian threats. But, Napoleon's survived East Germany (twice). Surely he can survive Tallinn.

"However," Mr Waverly continues, "in one week, Estonia will open a ferry link with Finland." Oh, goody. Napoleon breathes a sigh of relief. "Our Soviet sources say there is no trace of our agent in Tallinn. We suspect he is hiding and will take the first trip outbound to Helsinki. From there, he shall plan his next move. Our intelligence assets who are monitoring France's Directorate of Territorial Security say that he intends to attend a conference in Stockholm. To this end, UNCLE has authorised you a little money. It should be enough to secure passage to his next destination and attend the conference, if need be. But it would be better if he didn't - the conference will be attended by many. Including those people who might want our asset's information. That will make your lives rather more difficult. Follow this agent, and catch him."

"Before he makes contact with French intelligence?" asks Napoleon.

Mr Waverly shakes his head. "Before someone at that conference removes him from the running altogether."

"Do we have any idea how this agent looks?" asks Gaby. "There are no pictures in this file."

Mr Waverly shakes his head. "He's a solitary individual, this Mister René Waf. But he likes a good long promenade with only a single friend for company, you might find him more easily. He'll eat nothing but tinned meats for days but he has extraordinarily expensive tastes when it comes to his clothing and accessories - these days, he sports a bejeweled collar-style necklace. Rather thick band. Emeralds, I think, with a single gold pendant."

This helps a bit. "Anything for a physical description?" asks Napoleon. In lieu of the pictures that UNCLE _should_ have and doesn't.

"His recruitment in French intelligence was shallowly done, I believe on purpose. And we have never met with him face to face," says Mr Waverly. "Why, we would know nothing about this agent at all if it were not for the efforts of our own agent Penrose. I understand, however, that he is an ordinary-looking individual. He has something of a squashed face, and rather large eyes, and those are his most defining facial characteristics." Mr Waverly throws up his hands. "I'm sorry to say I know nothing more."

"There's one more thing," Mr Waverly adds. "The French government - must not know of this."

"So we won't tell our fellow agent Mademoiselle Brilliard," Napoleon says.

"It's - not only that," admits Mr Waverly. "Truly it would be best if we sent only one of you on this mission. But more important than keeping a low profile, we cannot let the agent slip free. We're sending three of you - but we need you to act as one. I want no heroics, now." Is it Napoleon's imagination, or is this latter comment directed his way? "If keeping covert requires two of you to be absent while the last finishes most of the work, then that's the way it plays out."

Gaby lowers her sunglasses and narrows her eyes. "Are we not to work together?"

"Oh, of course you are," says Mr Waverly thinly, and leaves it at that.

It is not until later that Napoleon receives the order, in his own chamber, through UNCLE conduits but from other American agents. Napoleon is to secure Mr Waf and more importantly his information first, before Illya. Or Gaby.

"I thought we were all on the same page, now," says Napoleon.

"We don't trust the Russians not to mishandle the asset," is how his anonymous caller explains it.

\--

Gaby is the one who finds the information. She sends Napoleon (and, he assumes, Illya) a thick file with a note to discuss its contents on the flight to Helsinki. Napoleon needs five minutes of perusal before he decides on his next course of action, which is to contact a travel agent.

Gaby's honour is quite remarkable, that she should send them this so freely. If someone has also told her to ensure that she gets to the asset first, then she's hiding it well. Napoleon decides it makes better sense to operate under the assumption that she's been instructed by British intelligence agents to do so. After all, whatever they tell him is likely no less than what they might tell Gaby.

Or Illya. Napoleon doesn't relish the thought of wrestling the asset away from Illya. He'd have to distract Illya to make him lose; one-on-one, Napoleon's simply outmatched.

"I think the asset is already in Finland," says Gaby.

"He could still be in Tallinn," argues Illya. "Plenty of places to hide."

"Yes, but he has to be in Stockholm for this conference," Gaby explains. She pulls out a press release, proclaiming the 21st International Navigation Conference in a week. "It's not the only conference in Stockholm, but I doubt he is going to the conference of Nordic Anthropologists." She pulls out another few items. The first is a page from an accounting ledger. "Mr Waf has a share in this company -" Gaby pulls out a tax return for Hubertot & Co. - "which among other things manufactures intertial guidance systems, used in ballistic missiles for submarines - I'm sure many parties are interested in this aspect - and which is now owned by a Mr Borderie. Whose telephone conversations were intercepted." Gaby pulls out a last piece, a set of pages clipped together. A transcript. "Waf's name comes up often. As you can see, they're still friends."

Then if their asset has to be in Stockholm by this date, and is perhaps no longer in Tallinn, there are only so many ways he could get there in time. "There's a Cunard cruise that leaves Tuesdays and Thursdays from Helsinki," says Napoleon, "going to Stockholm via the Åland Islands."

"He will debark there and lose us if we are not careful," Illya reminds.

"But the conference," Gaby interjects.

"I think he will care less about the conference, more about a tail. He does not know there are parties that want him to be secure. Only that he is hunted."

"Unless we're careful," Napoleon adds. "You'll have to show us some of that subtlety you say you've learned, Peril." Illya shoots him a stiff glare.

"There's also regular ferries, and shipping boats," says Gaby.

"Yes, but a man who wears a necklace made of emeralds is not going to take one of _those_ ," Napoleon points out. "He'll take this instead." It's Napoleon's turn to offer information, and he does, triumphantly tossing to the table three tickets for a cruise from Helsinki to Stockholm.

Illya looks at them with narrowed, shrewd eyes. "These are rather expensive," he notes. "You are certain of this?"

"Yes," Napoleon drawls. "Don't look so surprised my intelligence is better when it comes to nicer parts of the world. If it were closer to Siberia, I'd let _you_ book the tickets."

Credit to Illya, he's getting better at deflecting Napoleon's hits. This time, he hardly flinches. But his voice is still chilling cold. "And how did you get this, cowboy?" he sneers. "This is a little more than our allowance yields. Did you ride hard for it?"

"If you've a problem with my intelligence strategies, you should know that Mr Waverly doesn't."

Illya growls. On him it looks bestial and a darker part of Napoleon lurches pleasantly at the sight and sound. He tells himself it's vindication at getting a reaction. "What do I care for Mr Waverly," Illya mutters.

"Besides the fact that he signs our paycheques? I know how readily you obey a chain of command -"

"That's enough," says Gaby, and with some reluctance, they remain quiet.

\--

Once they have landed in Helsinki, arrived at the harbour, and boarded the cruise ship, they set themselves to the task of finding Mr Waf. Illya disappears in minutes. Napoleon loses sight of Gaby when he finds a pretty red-haired stewardess who might know something about which guests are staying where. He asks Miss Hannele about a 'friend' of his - rich, keeps to himself, great doe eyes. Unfortunately, she isn't very helpful and he lets her go, albeit with a promise to find her later, when the evening's entertainment in the dance hall starts.

He meets up with Illya and Gaby - separately. Illya he finds in the men's washroom. He waits until the last person has cleared out and they are alone before asking Illya about his success. Alas, none. Gaby he finds in a stewardess outfit. The tag reads Hannele. Gaby raises an eyebrow, challenging whether he'll say anything about it. Napoleon doesn't.

So it turns out none of them are successful. But the real problem is in what Gaby says: as she looked through the ledgers of passenger lists, she failed to find anybody with _either_ the first name René, _or_ the last name Waf.

"Are you sure of your information?" Gaby asks.

"Yes," he replies. Waf could not have taken any other method. He isn't swimming, that's for sure. It's July, but it's still the Baltic sea.

"What about a friend's boat? The company his friend Borderie owns also does business with shipping lines. Anything from a small motorboat to large vessels."

"If he took a little motorboat, it would have run out of gas three hours ago. Constant refueling would put a crimp in his schedule."

"So he's under a false name," says Illya, who has appeared just now behind him. Napoleon jumps, and this time can't help the reflex. Illya catches it and smirks. Red Peril got lucky, that's all.

"That's why I was looking for his description more than anything," Napoleon retorts, hackles still raised.

"But there's nothing by his description," Gaby says.

But this is a pleasure cruise. "A man with a bejeweled necklace," Illya argues, "how is this easy to miss, on a trip of this kind? I think moneyed capitalists like to look at things like this."

"Someone must have seen him," says Napoleon, realising his mistake. Someone must have seen him, and someone might have taken note, but it wouldn't have been the stewardess, who would have seen glitz after glamour boarding the cruise ship. One piece of jewelry among a sea of gems is nothing. But the other guests - magpies for shiny things - would take note of individual pieces.

\--

Luckily, the evening's entertainment is well-attended. Gaby said there were two hundred lines filled on the ledger, and there are about that many people in the ship's large dance hall. It's a good way to get to know a lot of the guests intimately.

Someone here has to have seen Mr Waf and his ostentatious neckwear. Napoleon is successful in flirting his way through the women, but the men they're with don't appreciate it much.

So he flirts with them too. Napoleon's always thought, what's good for the goose. Men are not used to being flirted with by men, and more often mistake it for something else. Manners and friendliness, usually. It softens more men than it perplexes.

Nobody has seen a man in a thick emerald necklace. There was a woman who mentions a ravishing dark-haired girl in teal, and briefly Napoleon is excited - perhaps Mr René is in fact Ms Renée, and this fact has eluded even UNCLE (after Gaby especially, Napoleon is warier of the wiles of women who work in his field) - but after two dances with her, Napoleon is convinced she can't be the asset. She lacks an ability to lie, and she knows nothing about Waf's work in navigation.

Finally his dances bring him to Gaby, who has also been playing the room. (As they two had decided earlier, Illya has so far few talents in this domain. He does, however, make an excellent waiter. For once, Illya agreed without protest to one of Napoleon's suggestions.)

"Have you found anything?" asks Gaby.

"Nothing yet. And you?"

"Something," she says. "Nobody seems to know this fellow, by his name or not. But there was one ..."

"Yes?"

"The fellow in the dark suit. You see him?" Napoleon does. "He only laughed when I asked him. As though Waf doesn't exist. I asked about the emeralds. That was what made him laugh..."

Intriguing. Napoleon spins her out, then spins her back in, and she folds herself comfortably against his chest. It warms him. "What did he say?

"He said that there's a curious creature who does go by that sort of apparel, but that he wouldn't be found dead in a place like this. Not tonight. He said he might know where he is."

"Does he," says Napoleon.

"Mm." Gaby's gaze drifts from Napoleon's eyes to his lips, and a change comes over her face. She relaxes in his arms, and smiles.

"Is he watching?" she asks.

Illya, of course. "Why," asks Napoleon, "Miss Hannele, you wouldn't be using me to get back at him, would you?"

Gaby traces an idle figure-eight on his shoulder. "You wouldn't mind if I were," she says evenly.

Napoleon concedes the point. He chances a peek around her neck. "He's watching," Napoleon says.

"You or me?"

Napoleon looks harder. "Me," he says. Then he looks again. His eyebrows spike up in brief surprise before he has re-established a handsome neutrality. With luck, Illya saw nothing. Napoleon says, quieter, "No. You."

"Both of us, then," says Gaby.

"I - suppose so," says Napoleon, stiffly. Hm.

Gaby cocks her head. "This surprises you? It shouldn't."

Then - he's not surprised, he decides. "Do you want to make him jealous?"

She slips her arm around Napoleon's shoulders and tugs them closer. "He's already fuming," she replies. "I can see the smoke coming out his ears from all the way over here."

Napoleon backs up and grabs her gently by the face - cups her jaw - before he bends and kisses her soundly on the lips.

He doesn't open his mouth - that would be gauche, already he perceives soft gasps from the older generation dancing around them - but he presses her close and holds her there, her lips warm and soft on his, until she sighs and fully melts against him. When he releases her, her eyes flutter open, unfocused and surprised.

She can't be surprised because of his actions. She knows him well enough that he'd do such a thing. This is in character.

"You liked that," he says.

"You're a _rake_ ," she breathes, which is a clear yes.

He watches Illya's eyes over Gaby's shoulder. Illya looks more upset than he's been in weeks and storms off. Rejoice and remorse, Napoleon feels, and shrewdly watches him leave.

Gaby catches it too. "Ah," she says, "I should -"

"Go on," says Napoleon, and drops his arms for her to slip free, not because he wants her to go, but because by now, he understands enough about Illya.

\--

Only a few women want to dance with him after that, and when they've finished, Napoleon decides it will be time to make an exit himself.

Gaby acted evasive, which means she's found out more than she let on. She's hiding something - she knows where Waf is staying. More to the point, she knows that Waf is staying where Gaby's dark suited dancer is staying. In the same room, perhaps. It's a good place to start.

He finds out from one of the girls he dances with after Gaby (things have rather rapidly become separated into 'before Gaby' and 'after Gaby') that this fellow is a Mr Debré, something of a playboy.

Good. Then he will have made himself known to the stewardesses, as Napoleon did.

Napoleon finds a young blond stewardess, a Miss Anneli, with eyes that are almost Illya's shade. He asks her about Debré. She directs him to the right room, one floor down. He knocks - there's no answer. "I guess I'll wait outside," he says.

"What did you want with Mr Debré?" she asks.

"Nothing much," Napoleon replies. "He invited me in for drinks."

"In the room?" Miss Anneli asks.

"Outside of prying eyes," says Napoleon. "We might be up rather late."

"But - that's... a one-bed room," she replies.

Napoleon looks at her until she blushes. "Outside of prying eyes," he repeats smoothly.

This seems to be enough to get Anneli to leave. Once she has, he picks the lock and slips inside the room to find -

Gaby, in the middle of the tiny room, her hands deep in a suitcase.

She straightens and fixes him with an accusation. "You're doing this to get it from Illya," she says. "Why must you two always be at odds, in competition! This is foolish, we could work better together."

"Says the East German," replies Napoleon.

Gaby glares. It has nothing to do with that and they both know it. "Maybe you should practice better self-control," she says. "When they tell you to get something before he does, they're playing you to make you work harder, because they know you can't resist a bit of sport."

"That's all it is!" says Napoleon, defiant. "A bit of sport!"

"Of course!" Gaby throws her hands up in the air. "When are you ever not playing! All is sport to you!"

It's then that he notices she has a strip of something in her hands, glittering green. Napoleon realises something. "Why would they have told _you_ to get it first?" The Russians versus the Americans, that makes sense. But who has Gaby got to compete with?

"I can't believe you can be this dumb," says Gaby, but that's all she has time for before the boat lurches unpleasantly in brackish Baltic waters, and it throws both of them off their feet. Napoleon stumbles forward and the room is too small for him to readjust his balance. He knocks into Gaby - Gaby, already precarious, stumbles backwards - and they tumble together onto the bed.

The door opens. It's Illya.

"It's not what it looks like," blurts Napoleon.

Illya blinks. He has a dog in his hands. "It looks like me, doing all the work, while others ... cavort," he says, sounding tetchy. He holds up the dog. It's a pug with a little squashed face and bulbous eyes and -

Oh, no.

"Waf!" says the dog.

"This is our asset," says Illya. He smiles thinly, and then tucks the dog back under his arm. He gives it a scratch behind the ears and it wriggles with delight upon Illya's forearm.

Beneath him, Gaby grumbles something incoherent and throws him the emerald collar. The emerald _dog collar_ , whose gold tag reads René. "Thank you," says Illya. "Good work, cowboy," he notes and shuts the door behind him.

"You know, sometimes I hate him," says Napoleon.

"You are a terrible liar," says Gaby.

"I am an excellent liar," he says.

"Not to me," she replies.

They leave before Debré can find two chastised spies in his bunk.

\--

The emerald-encrusted dog collar is a clever trick, thinks Napoleon, when he hears of it once they have reconvened at UNCLE headquarters. Concealed between the strip of leather are two sets of three rings more expensive than the emeralds themselves. They are a scale model of gimbals for a clever inertial navigational system for ballistic missiles. The rest of the information is in Debré (who turned out to be a French intelligence agent)'s files, which, Napoleon hears, UNCLE is now working on retrieving.

As for the pug, Illya gleefully explains, he belongs to one of Waverly's bosses (or perhaps his bosses' bosses, Napoleon isn't certain). Happy to receive him back, this agent has extended favour to the nationality credited with the success. That is to say, to UNCLE's Soviet agents.

Gaby was right. It seems they are on the same page, except when UNCLE higher-ups purposefully exploit petty rivalries of nationality to have a good job done better.

"The idea is to remind us that they're petty," Waverly says, patronising. "That we must always keep in our eyes the bigger picture."

"So, it's a test, and we've failed," says Napoleon.

"Cowboy speaks for himself, I was no failure," says Illya.

Gaby lifts her shades onto the top of her head to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Does this mean that Illya gets to go on more interesting missions?" she complains.

"I _was_ the one who realised it was a dog," says Illya. "Enjoy Thailand, however."

" _I_ realised it first when he wasn't on the ledger!" says Gaby.

"And you didn't tell us."

" _I_ got us on the cruise," adds Napoleon.

"About that," Waverly points out, "next time, perhaps don't book first class, Mr Solo."

"I got us the information about the ballistic missiles," says Gaby.

"I found the asset while _you two_ were busy playing games -"

"That's enough!" says Waverly loudly.

Gaby frowns. "I don't think it's fair to reward him when all of us contributed," she explains. "Why should he now get separate missions?"

"Oh, no," says Waverly cheerily. "On that note you must have misunderstood." Illya's face falls. It's almost comical. "We'd never break up this group. You work so well together and in the coming months we expect that to grow. You're all going to Thailand on this next mission, you will cooperate, and that's that."

Waverly leaves them feeling sourer than they did before, which Napoleon hadn't thought possible. Gaby storms off in a huff and Illya seems prepared to do the same.

"Look," says Napoleon, before Illya can disappear on him again. "We weren't playing games."

"Didn't look that way," Illya says.

"Oh, if it were that kind of a game, we'd have cleared a spot for you at the board." Napoleon stands and brushes by Illya on his way out the meeting room. "Don't you think?"

Illya says nothing, but the way in which he says nothing belies his thinking about it.

Good, let him think. Let the idea root.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like any French person will have seen this coming a mile ago, because ouaf-ouaf (sometimes spelled waf-waf in comic strips) is onomatopoeia for a dog's bark. OH WELL!


End file.
